Mujercita
by ladyanaconda
Summary: Marigold is going through puberty, the stage where she needs her mother the most, but with La Muerte's absence, Xibalba will have to cope with any way he can.


Now, _this_ was worrying.

Not long after Carmen had given his daughter 'The Talk', Marigold started acting strangely (around him, at least), and he couldn't understand why. She'd spend hours secluded in her room, and when she did come out she wore a baggy blouse that reached from her shoulders to her waist; it looked ridiculous on her, but she insisted on using it anyway. When he tried to inquire as to why using that blouse, she'd try to change the subject.

He knew this had something to do with the talk, but he couldn't catch the 'why', what had they talked about. Surely, it was not only the bleeding that was bothering her, it was something different, yet related to it.

Xibalba watched in worry as Marigold poked around the food in her plate, shifting her feet and the feathers of her wings twitching in discomfort. Finally, he decided to do something about it. "Marigold?"

No reply.

"Sweetie, are you okay?"

"Mm?" Marigold looked up at her father.

"I asked you if you're alright."

"Oh… I'm okay, papá."

"You barely touched your food."

"I'm not very hungry, that's all…"

Setting his fork down, Xibalba placed his hand over hers. "You know you can talk to me about anything, _mi florecita_."

"Not about this…" Marigold muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"N-Nothing! I don't want to talk about it, papá, that's all…"

Xibalba knew by the sad tone of her voice that she really did not want to talk about it, so he decided to change the subject. "So, what did you do today?"

"I read a book about birds." Marigold said curtly. It was like she wasn't in the mood to talk at all. "Can I go to my room, papá?"

"… Okay, my dear."

After excusing herself from the table, Marigold stood up, the chair scraping against the floor, and glided out of the Dining Hall. Xibalba stared at her until she disappeared, still worried about her. It was getting worse lately; now she rarely spoke to him at all anymore, and even seemed uncomfortable in his presence. She had also became quite short-tempered and would cry out of sudden. Had he done something wrong? Had he hurt her in some way without knowing it? Or did it have to do with the Talk?

Standing up from his chair, he quietly followed after his daughter, though he was certain she must have already reached her room, he just hoped she hadn't locked the door. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to see her until next morning, if she came out at all. Once he was in front of the doors, he was about to knock on the door when he heard a sound coming from within.

Sobbing.

Alarmed, Xibalba didn't bother to knock this time as he opened the door-which thankfully wasn't locked-and rushed in to find Marigold on top of her bed, hugging her knees, glaring at the world with crimson orbs, tears in the corner of her eyes. With his heart skipping a beat, he approached, but when he reached her side she made a protective 'house' with her wings to block herself from view.

"Go away." She sobbed.

Xibalba felt hurt when she spoke to him like that. "Something is bothering you, my child. Do not try to hide it from me, I know you. I'm just worried about you."

Marigold wrapped her wings more tightly around her body. "You wouldn't understand."

"Why not?"

"You're a boy!"

Xibalba blinked. "What?"

"Shut up!" Marigold gave in to her frustration and pounded on her father's chest with clenched fists. "Just shut up!"

"Marigold, stop!" Xibalba snapped firmly at her, grabbing her hands in his. "You're not being yourself!"

"Leave me alone!"

The dark god pulled his daughter closer and held her tightly against his chest, wrapping his large wings around her. Marigold struggled to get free, but he was much stronger than her, no matter how much she pushed against his chest. As she did so, Xibalba realized something was different… it felt like there was a pillow between them, her chest and his. Realization dawned brightly.

"Marigold?" he spoke gently. "Is that why you've been wearing that ridiculous blouse? Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

Marigold's eyes were reflecting a suffering he would never understand. Her sugary skin turned red, finally pushing away from her father and crossing her arms across her chest very tightly. Her shoulders quivered and she sighed shakily.

"It's e-everything, papá…" Marigold sobbed. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry! I can't stand this!" she started bawling. "Why do I have to suffer because I'm a girl! All of it! And that bleeding! I can't stand it!" The young goddess hugged her father tightly, quite the opposite to what she was doing a few minutes ago, and sobbed into his chest. "I'm sorry, papi!"

Finally realizing what was bothering her, Xibalba returned the embrace and wrapped his wings around her small body once more. "Shhh. You don't have to be sorry, _mi florecita_. You're growing up, it's alright to feel scared or insecure. I'm sure I will find out sooner or later. I'm your father, _mi pequeña_, and nothing will ever change that. No matter how much time passes or how much you grow, you'll always be my baby." Xibalba lifted his daughter's chin with a finger and offered her a small smile. "Please don't cry. You look prettier when you smile, _mi florecita_."

Marigold's lips managed to curve upwards into a smile, and she rested her head against her father's chest, soothed by his heartbeat. It always soothed her, made her feel safe; this came from way back when she was a baby. She remembered it clearly, the sound of his heart beating underneath his armor and chest, the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his voice cooing and talking sweetly to her to soothe her fears, his eyes staring down at her lovingly.

Xibalba returned the hug, recalling when his little Marigold was just a squirming little bundle; how her little eyes often glanced at the world around her seeking to learn new things, how she'd coo and squeal everytime he held her close and how she'd cry just so that he picked her up. Had it been that long? Had so much time passed since she was that beautiful and fragile _cosita_? He would never understand what she was going through, but he could try and help her with that burden.

"Would you like me to tell you a story, _mi florecita_?" he inquired gently.

Marigold glanced up at her father with glossy eyes. "Hm?"

"I could take you to the rocking chair and tell you a story like when you were little. How does that sound?"

"I'm not three anymore, papá…"

"It's not that kind of story, Marigold… it's another type, one I think you're old enough to hear now. Wouldn't it be fun?"

Marigold thought for a moment, and she nodded her head. "Okay."

* * *

Soon they were in Xibalba's chambers, on his rocking chair. Marigold was snuggled into her father's embrace, wrapped in a blanket, hugging Rattles like when she was a child. She remembered how her father would hold her like this back when she was little, an he'd tell her a fairytale, he knew many interesting stories and legends both from Mexico and around the world. Her favorite fairytale had been one about a princess saved her six brothers from a curse cast on them by an evil witch that turned them into swans.

Cuddling time, they dubbed it.

The last time they had one was when she was seven.

"What's this story about, papá?" Marigold inquired curiously.

Xibalba smiled as he pulled his child closer. "It's about four young little girls and their passage from childhood to womanhood."

"Like me?"

"Like you, mi florecita. They were four sisters named Jo, Meg, Beth and Amy March; they lived with their mother in New England. But because their father served as a chaplain in the Civil War, the sisters and their mother had a hard time supporting themselves and their home, especially after losing the family fortune. Luckily, they are good friends with a wealthy neighbor named Theodore Laurence, who they know as Laurie."

"How are the sisters like, papá?"

"The eldest was Meg, she is sixteen years old and considered like a second mom to her sisters. She acted like a little woman was expected to act during those times, and was nearly a perfect 'little woman'."

"What do you mean with expected to act?"

Xibalba sighed. "During those times, women had little hopes of having any life outside the house. They were expected to cook clean, look after the kids and please their husbands in anything they wanted with little to no freedom of their own. I'm not happy to say even today there are women like that."

"Was mamá like that?"

"Not quite, my dear." Xibalba chuckled. "Your mother was a very strong and independent woman. She refused to be lectured down as an inferior to any man, your uncle Zipacna learned it the bad way when we were kids."

Marigold giggled, prompting Xibalba to continue.

"The second sister was Jo, she is fifteen by the time the story starts. Unlike her sisters, she was strong and willful though she struggled to subdue her tomboyish personality. Even the people around her noted she had a boyish air to her; her father had referred to her as his 'son' Jo and Laurie sometimes called her 'my dear fellow'. But since this was not acceptable in a woman at that time, her mother and her sister Beth often helped her subdue her personality."

"Beth?"

"The third sister at thirteen years old. She was kind, gentle, sweet shy and liked music. She was wise beyond her years and often scolded her sisters gently when they argued, because she didn't like when they fought. She was very close to Jo, and when she got sick with scarlet fever Jo took good care of her; but though she was nursed back to health she was left very weakened."

"And the youngest sister?"

"Her name was Amy, and she was twelve. She liked painting very much." Xibalba smiled down at his daughter. "Just like you, _mi pequeña_."

Marigold blushed.

"She was the artist of the family, and always carried herself like a proper young lady. She was often petted because she was the youngest, and so she was quite vain and self-centered, the least inclined of the sisters to sacrifice and self-denial."

"And what happened to them?"

"Well, like all little girls, at some point their lives the sisters had to grow into little young women…"

Marigold listened to her father's every word. How each of the sister had to face her own demons and moral challenges: Jo had to tame her tomboyish ways and learn to be more ladylike while pursuing her ambition to be a great writer, Meg had to put aside her love of wealth and finery to follow her heart, Beth had to conquer her bashfulness and Amy had to sacrifice her aristocratic pride. How the family changed when Meg fell in love with Laurie's tutor and they married and had twins. How Laurie fell in love with Jo but she was unable to return his feelings and Amy traveled through Europe with her wealthy aunt and cousin to nurture her artistic talent.

She liked the part were Jo met a professor named Bhaer who had an intellect and strong moral nature that sparked her interest, and Laurie and Amie ended up falling in love. But she was very sad when Beth died since she was never very strong. In the end, Jo and the professor married and started a boarding school for boys, while Amy and Laurie married and used Laurie's family wealth to support struggling young artists, and the story ended with a birthday party for the girls' mother.

When he was done, Xibalba looked down at his daughter. "Did you like it?"

"It was interesting, papá… How is it called?"

"Little Women. It was your mother's favorite book when we were teenagers, it helped her go through the woman's business." How he hated not to know about that.

"I wish she were here."

"I know, _mi florecita_…" Xibalba sighed sadly. "Marigold." He lifted his daughter's chin so he could look into her eyes. "I may not understand what you're going through, that's true, but I want you to know that you can count on me. I will always be with you, _mi florecita_, no matter what."

Marigold smiled and snuggled against her father. "I love you, papá."

The dark god planted a kiss on his daughter's head. "I love you more, my child."

Marigold fell asleep in her father's arms.

* * *

Next morning, she awoke in her bed underneath her covers. Marigold glanced around the room as it wanting to find her father, but he was not there. She was only surrounded by the paintings in her walls. Reluctantly, Marigold stood up from bed and took off her pajamas to look at herself in the mirror. Her body was changing, it was curving a bit at the waist, her buttocks were more noticeable and her once-flat chest had two stumps starting to grow. She'd have to start wearing brassieres soon, but she couldn't ask her father to get her some; he was a man. She doubted he knew anything about brassieres at all.

Marigold glided to her wardrobe and looked for her baggy blouse to hide her growing bussoms. But as she reached out for it, she recalled the story about the four sisters. They had gone through the same she was going through, but they hadn't let that stop them. They were strong, and accepted the process of becoming a fully-fledged woman. Also they only grew with one parent for most of their lives, though in their case both were alive, only that their father had to go to war.

Marigold set the baggy blouse aside and picked a dress.

A few minutes later, Xibalba knocked on his daughter's door to see if she was okay. "Marigold? Are you alright, sweetie?"

"I'm coming, papá."

He was relieved that it didn't take her that long to answer this time, and she sounded calmer than yesterday. He waited in front of the door for a while, fidgeting with his staff until he heard the door creaking open, and looked down at his daughter. Much to his surprise, she was not wearing that ridiculous baggy blouse, but rather one of her normal dresses. He noticed her body shape had curved a bit in the waist, and her breasts were starting to grow.

"Are you feeling better, Marigold?" he inquired with worry.

"I think so, papá." Marigold smiled a little at him.

"Say, Marigold… I was thinking. How about we go for a ride after breakfast?"

"Sounds good to me, papá." Marigold replied. "But do I have to sit on top with both my legs on a side, or can I ride like you? Little women are not supposed to ride like men do."

Xibalba let out a chuckle as he led his daughter down the corridor.


End file.
